


The Price of Disloyalty

by norcumi



Category: RWBY
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Don’t copy to another site, GFY, Multi, Overthinking, Spoilers, Spoilers: Volume 7 (RWBY), The Author Regrets Nothing, character reacts to canon, no beta we die like meh, spoilers through volume 7 finale, the author has opnions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 13:19:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22875967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/norcumi/pseuds/norcumi
Summary: Clover made his decision during the fight for Mantle. He sided with Qrow and Robyn, and he doesn't regret that choice.He just...questions it. In search for clarity, he goes to get some help in asking "What if?"
Relationships: Qrow Branwen/Clover Ebi/Robyn Hill
Comments: 4
Kudos: 25





	The Price of Disloyalty

**Author's Note:**

  * For [draconicPenartastic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/draconicPenartastic/gifts).

> I've had a number of thoughts about the end of Volume 7, and developed Certain Opinions, and somewhere along the line I realized I desperately wanted to see a Clover with a little bit more humanity and a little less obedience. Then SOMEONE egged me on, and suddenly there was this AU where things went differently - but that Clover should get the same chance to react to Canon that we all did.
> 
> Meanwhile, many thanks to DP for egging me on and helping with titles. <3

The streets of Argus are lovely, really. Not at all what he’s used to, either Mantle’s ground-down brick or Atlas’ sometimes too-pristine sterility. Both are home, but this is...nice.

Clover has to shake his head at his own absurdity. ‘Nice.’ He’ll have to do better than that if he wants to convince anyone back home that he took this mission as a vacation. He pulled rank, claiming a milkrun courier mission to Argus and blew it off as wanting a bit of alone time, wanting his team to practice things with Vine as the only one in charge.

It helps, that he does tend to value his alone time, and there’s been little of that lately, what with all the prep going on and he’s _trying_ to be supportive making decisions because Qrow can be useless at that and Robyn has Council duties.

Ok, so maybe this is also a little about finding time to kick back and _think_on things.

He doesn’t _brood_, no matter _what_ Robyn might say about him and Qrow and birds of a feather. She’s lucky they like her jokes. 

That thought manages to knock the grin off his face. They’re all lucky, all three of them. Or perhaps not. That’s the problem. 

His Good Fortune is his Semblance, but back in the Academy he’d gotten a hell of a lesson. He’d been a confident third-year when some spunky firstie had challenged him to a friendly duel. Hadn’t been the first time Clover had that happen, was far from the last. Hell, the kid had washed out a few months later, not able to keep up with the Atlesian military’s rigorous demands. 

Kid’s Semblance was a bear, though. _Invert_, they’d called it, the ability to reach out and switch someone else’s Semblance into something opposite of what it should be. Clover had spent a humiliating dozen minutes tripping, stumbling, and bungling his way around the sparring grounds while that kid had just..._laughed_ their way to victory. 

Not spiteful, just...delighted with the feel of it. The Luck. Clover had been able to sympathize, even then. He’d always had it, never been without it – not until then. He _was_ good, though, not just talented, not just lucky. It’d been a close fight at the end.

But he’d learned from that. Spent a lot of time and introspection chewing through how to be better, how to use but not lean on his luck. Got a nifty little recorder for his scroll, clipped it on his belt next to his rabbit’s foot, so he could look over footage after ops and find out how to up his game. 

It took him from being good to being the best, but Clover never let that get to his head, never forgot how it felt to trip over his own damn feet for the first and only time in his life. 

It also meant that sometimes, he got too far into his own head, too caught up in trying to evaluate what was him, what was his Semblance, what was just...actual luck.

Sometimes, Clover just thought too damn much. He never let it get in his way in the field, but off of it? He didn’t know how to stop from asking questions.

Not the best habit for leader of the Ace Ops. He knows, has known for years that it’s not really a healthy approach to things, but he’s never figured out how to get the brakes on it. And since it doesn’t affect his work except for the better, he’s let his private life remain private and if that means sometimes he gets lost in mental games of ‘what ifs’ and ‘could’ve beens’ that’s no one else’s business.

Except...except it kinda is, now. At least, it’s getting there. None of them’s popped the question, not with Qrow galavanting around playing Intelligence (and playmate with the RWBY and JNOR teams), and Robyn keeps Councilwomaning it up, and he himself is trying to help Mantle and Atlas get their collective shit together. Yet they’re all comfortable with each other, any combination of the three though all of them together really is best thing in the world.

It’s just –

It’s just that sometimes Clover starts _thinking_. He’s so damn _lucky_ to have them in his life – in far more than one sense, though they don’t talk about _that day_ much anymore, nor how close things came to going badly. Though his and Qrow’s Semblances don’t cancel each other out, his tends to kick in more, just because Clover’s luck is in his favor, but Qrow’s just hits anything in range. 

It hasn’t eaten him up inside yet, but Clover can’t help but wonder about them, about the two best things to ever happen to him. He’s pretty sure them being together isn’t just his luck, but it’s not like he can turn it off long enough to find out. 

Also, it’s not like talking to them would help much. Robyn would get all serious, get too deep and philosophical and then she’d have to break the tension with affectionate barbs and whatever ridiculous nicknames she’s cooked up today. Qrow would just roll his eyes, tell him to stop worrying, and try to find some way to distract him – not a bad thing, just...not the point. 

So he’s decided to take matters into his own hands. There’s a little shop, tucked on a winding street in the hills of Argus. Clover’s seen some ads, then done a _lot_ of research, because if this is legit then he wants to make sure he knows what he’s in for. 

_Unspoken Echoes_ is a heck of an ominous name, to be on such a small, innocuous sign over the door. The art of cheery yellow flowers bracketing the name just makes things even more surreal. A little bell dingles when he opens the door, and a person startles up from a plush chair tucked off in a nook to the side. They have blue-violet hair in a mass of braids, dark green eyes, subdued clothing colors in a simple style. Mid-range complexion, and looking like they could blend into a crowd in any kingdom. 

“Oh, are you my three o’clock?” they ask, blinking over at a timepiece. 

Clover can’t help but to take a bracing breath, even as he resists the urge to brush his badge for an extra dose of fortune. “That’d be me.”

* * *

The shopkeep, one Hyacinth Rue, offers him a seat on a comfy sofa out of direct line of sight with the windows, then offers him a mug of tea (“It’s not necessary, just social niceties, you know”). There’s an air of slight unease to them, like Rue isn’t used to people being in their business – then again, Clover has no idea how many people might want to examine their own pasts so closely.

When they’re both settled and there’s warm mugs to keep hands busy, Rue gives him a long, long look. “How much research did you do?” they ask, cutting to the chase.

Clover grins. “Enough. Is that unusual?”

Rue has a lopsided smile as they drink some tea. “It’s either almost none, or a heck of a lot.”

Interesting. “You get a lot of impulse shoppers, then?”

“Enough,” they quote back before setting the mug back down with an air of formality. “I suspect you’re one of the ‘heck of a lot’ category, but I’m going through the basics anyways because that keeps my insurance premiums down.”

He can understand that, and gestures for them to go ahead.

Rue settles into a more comfortable position, rattling off a spiel that’s practiced enough to be smooth, but humane enough that they can’t have given it as many times as Clover’s done the welcome speech to new recruits.

“My Semblance allows me to give people visions. They’re glimpses of what might have been, if an event had gone differently – and I cannot guarantee ‘different’ will mean better or worse. Sometimes, it’s still the same bottom line even if the rest of the page is different. I think of it as a probability game. _If_ you had done the most likely thing – or second most likely thing – in circumstances regarding whatever you’re investigating, then _this_ is the most likely outcome. It’s not a product of just your own mind, but it changes nothing of your past. There is no way to do that, sorry. Also, a lot of people prefer to not know something they can’t change, so if you haven’t considered that, please please do.”

Clover _somehow_ manages not to laugh, instead he nods. “Just a roll of the dice, huh?” he asks, trying to squelch the instinctive swell of disappointment. This is the stuff he hadn’t been able to find, the specific questions that mean pretty much everything in his case.

Rue frowns, then shakes their head. “Not really. Sorry, I can see how my wording might imply that.” They hesitate, squinting into the distance in thought. “It’s not a case of ‘what if you made the game-saving catch’ at a sports game because you did or didn’t trip in the vision, as compared to reality; it’s more a matter of...what if you listened to the thoroughly normal urge to stay in bed an hour longer that day, or had decided to cut curfew that night. Normal things you might have done, if you’d made a different decision. Luck actually plays very little part in most people’s lives, from what they’re willing to tell me.”

“So you can’t see these visions.” He read this, it’s stated at least three different times in the ads, but he wants to hear it himself. _How_ things are phrased can make a hell of a difference, and he’s been playing with both laws and politics long enough to have that drilled home. 

Rue nods, several braids bouncing from the motion into their face. “Correct. I can’t see, hear, or experience them in any way. I start the visions, I need to stay close by for them to continue instead of dissolving into weird dreams, and they run their course – I can’t stop them early, beyond stepping away and making things really messier than anyone actually likes, please let’s not. Also, you just lie there. There’s eye movement, but you toss and turn more during normal sleep, to be honest. Which reminds me, do you want a companion? You go unconscious for twenty minutes to an hour or so, and I’m not offended–”

“I’m good, thanks.” The last thing he wants to do is try to find someone he knows and make them sit through him taking a nap. “So what do I need to do?”

He signs yet another form saying he understands customer satisfaction is not guaranteed, transfers the last of the Lien due, and settles back on the sofa in a comfortable sprawl. Rue places a hand atop his, the other on his shoulder. Clover can feel that warm shiver of someone’s activated aura interacting with his own, which he takes as his cue. 

“Concentrate on what you want to investigate,” Rue says, their voice both distant and weirdly close. “Think on the events you want to explore. You need to remember what happened in order to discover what might otherwise have been.”

Clover takes a deep breath, and for once, instead of avoiding the memories, he dives straight into them. 

* * *

The worst day of Clover’s life was a mess. The Schnee dinner party, with stressful politics that rapidly got out of hand. The Grimm invasion of Mantle, which became the evacuation of Mantle.

The General’s declaration of Martial Law.

The General...declaring Qrow and his students to be wanted criminals, to be _targets _detained on sight, leaving Clover stuck in an airship with a captured serial killer, Robyn Hill, and Qrow Branwen.

Qrow, who had ambled into Clover’s life with a pessimistic acceptance of making his life adjust to the choices he makes and all the bad luck that falls his way. Qrow, crawling out of the bottle and with such a set of puppy eyes every time Clover complimented him, told the truth and showed he _liked_ the idiot. Qrow, with his opposing Semblance and life perspectives but never any _questions_. 

Robyn, who Clover had spent _months_ keeping things to a strictly professional level, because he had faith she’d make the Council, and he would _not_ be compromising her position. Not when they’d become friends, after he’d wandered into one of her rallies late one night when his head had been too full of questions and the white noise of doubt. Not when friends had become friends with benefits a handful of times, because they were both sometimes so alone at the head of their groups. 

Tyrian Callows, who’d cackled and snapped and agitated between them, as Qrow and Robyn had tried to convince Clover to just...disobey orders. As if it were something _easy_, as if very quietly, it wasn’t tearing him to pieces. 

He’d liked them then. Knew, deep down inside where he kept difficult truths, that he could love them all too easily. 

But he _trusted_ Ironwood, knew and respected and swore to follow _his general_ and whatever orders might come.

He tried to have faith. He tried to just follow orders. 

Callows broke free, crashed the ship. Clover’s fortune had been enough for his safe landing, but Robyn had been knocked around. Qrow – Qrow had just _assumed_ they would work together to capture Callows, who’d already proven to be a difficult prisoner and no longer a priority. Callows had tried to goad them on, cackling away about making truces and – 

Clover could never quiet those questions, deep in the back of his head. When he lost himself in battle, just listened and reacted to luck and the whims of the moment, the doubts drowned under the weight of the now, instinct, battle-honed habits. 

He’d wanted to scream in that moment, because between Robyn’s unknown status, Qrow’s _look_ of wounded betrayal, and that cackling madman – everything in his head was questions. He _couldn’t_ make them be quiet. 

Clover Ebi reached his breaking point on the tundra, and he shattered. He broke faith with James Ironwood, for a politician and a cynical fugitive from the law.

He tried not to think, tried to lose himself in the now achingly familiar battledance with Qrow against Callows. He fought, vicious and desperate, because he could not fight that burning coal of doubt caged in his ribs, ‘orders’ grating sparks against ‘friends.’

Callows ran, breaking Qrow’s leg in the process. Clover grabbed a woozy Robyn, who held a furious bird-shaped Qrow, then they ran in the opposite direction. 

By the time things had calmed down, Clover had mostly made his peace with his betrayal of Atlas – and Ironwood. 

Mostly. However, as much as he enjoyed the quiet..._thing_ that was growing between himself, Robyn, and Qrow – as always, he _could not stop questioning_. 

Had it been right? What if he’d talked them around instead of Callows bringing down the ship? What if it was all just his luck, what if they didn’t feel towards him the way he thought, the way he _wanted_ them to, if not for his Semblance? 

It’s not something stupid and juvenile, like – well, like Qrow’s notion that he might not deserve happiness. No, Clover’s issue is just that he doesn’t always know what’s real. He desperately needs for this to be real. 

He wishes he knew himself what he meant by “what if it had all been different?” He hopes that Rue’s Semblance knows. 

Light blossoms up behind his closed eyelids, a vibrant purple-blue that swirls around him like hard light projections. It creates a breeze that blows away the sensations of him sitting on a sofa, of Rue’s hands upon him, and Clover blinks, only to find himself back at Atlas. He’s at the Academy, hovering in the air before whatever’s carrying him swoops in, right through a wall that shimmers for a moment – then they’re through, like ‘solid’ or not doesn’t matter. 

Clover is standing outside a room for practicing combat – old style, with hideously outdated tech. He stares at two kids walking by, laughing with each other over some stupid joke. The pips on their uniforms indicate third year students, but they look so _young_ it makes something in his chest pang. 

It’s _him,_ it’s him and one of his teammates, both of them _kids_, and for all that he knew what he was getting into with this vision business, Clover still wants to stumble back from this weirdness. He doesn’t – he’s not entirely sure he could in the first place – and instead he tries to figure out how the heck this might relate to his life, Qrow, and Robyn.

He figures it out as another cadet trails after his former self. It’s _that_ kid, the one with the Invert Semblance, and they’re watching young Clover for a moment before shaking their head and walking away.

Wait. Was it _luck_ that had him meeting that cadet, back in the day? The skin on the back of his neck crawls, because it never even occurred to him that it might be good fortune that he always has questions eating at the back of his brain. It’s counterintuitive at _best_. Questioning is part of what makes his life so _difficult_. 

He gets the answer quick enough. The vision fast forwards, skipping ahead to snapshots of his life. Clover gets to see a life where he _doesn’t_ question, just sails forward leaning hard on his luck. It’s somewhere between appalling and breathtaking: the Clover in the vision is one step shy of arrogant as he just takes risks, jumps into situations with the confidence of a man who knows – down to his bones _knows_ – that he will squeak through it no matter what. 

Except Clover can spot the flaws. He can see the moments where the Good Fortune failed to pull through, or where Vision-him fumbles – less than a normal man might, but it’s sometimes something that _he_ would’ve caught, would’ve compensated for, would’ve trained to avoid. 

The Clover in the vision trains hard, does good work, keeps from being an arrogant SOB – but he never pushes for that extra edge that Clover does. Instead he just traipses into whatever situation comes up, with boundless faith that his Good Fortune will see him through. 

At first, he thinks it doesn’t change much in his life. He and his team are still solid co-workers, still not close friends. But without the introspection, the efforts to network because Clover needs help from others to work out training or technical difficulties – Vision-him is so isolated. He’s the kind of man who makes acquaintances easily, but doesn’t quite know how to trust enough to make friends. He depends on his luck to get through conversations, which it does, but he never manages the depth for actual friendship. That takes more than luck. 

The Clover of the vision is _lonely_. He tries for a few relationships – most go nowhere, becoming very casual friendships that don’t last. One builds, but the man in question realizes how Clover’s luck helps _him_, and it’s not a relationship: it’s Vision-him being taken advantage of. 

Clover is glad he has no idea who that man is, that they’ve never met in this life. 

It doesn’t help that Vision-him stops trying for relationships after that. The closest he gets is a sort of friendship with Ironwood that really isn’t, not with the power imbalance and how James just can’t seem to settle on ‘friend’ or ‘underling.’

That hurts. 

Vision-him doesn’t wander the cities on long nights when the questions get too loud, so Vision-him never makes friends with Robyn. To that guy, she’s just the charismatic Mantle troublemaker with political ambitions. Better than a lot of alternatives, certainly, and seems like a good person, but not a friend.

It’s easy to see how this other Clover is so swiftly drawn to Qrow when they meet. It’s not just the stresses of a difficult time, but also their opposing Semblances and views. It’s painful and a little embarrassing to watch Vision-him latch on to Qrow, sassing his habitual self-depreciation, and the flirtation while egging him on to aim for _more_. They’re so alike but so very, _very_ different; holding opposing perspectives with the same certainty and faith in both their Semblances and their leaders.

Yeah, that’s – that’s not too different. 

Clover winces as Vision-him swats open the door to a crashing airship even as the Grimm perched atop it screams just outside, only for it to be smashed away by a random bit of debris. Brazen, cocky, _arrogant_ Vision-him doesn’t even _check_, he had no way of knowing the Grimm wouldn’t lunge and snap up a Clover snack instead of screeching long enough to take a fuselage to the teeth. 

The really funny part is that Clover can’t even be mad with the guy. It’s so painfully easy to see how this could have been, how this version of him is such a natural outgrowth of his circumstances.

It’s beyond luck the idiot hasn’t died a long time ago though; it verges on a miracle. 

He’s well used to assessing his performance in the field, so watching the Grimm invasion feels a little like old hat. Robyn kicking the maniacal smile off Callows’ face is still one of the hottest things ever, and that right on the heels of the three of them against a hell of a foe?

Yes, yes Clover is in love with two badasses with at least as many issues as him. 

Also, he doesn’t want to think about what comes next. 

The vision hauls him into the vehicle anyways, and this is all far, _far_ too familiar. Ruby Rose’s desperate warning. Robyn’s look of betrayal. Qrow’s distrust, shaded by disbelief because how dare Clover try to convince him that things could work out when here was concrete proof that no, _everything failed_.

This time, he can see Callows’ glee and anticipation, and that makes it all worse. Clover wishes so hard he could drag his Vision-self away, to sit down with Robyn and Qrow so as to not be on Callows’ side in any way at all. 

The incoming alert to his scroll tries to break both Clovers. He cannot believe how – how _calm_ this other him is, how quickly _resigned_ he is. And then the idiot pushes his luck with Robyn, ‘After everything we’ve been through tonight’ indeed. Not intentional flirtation, but anyone who’d stop and _think_ instead of leaning so hard on _luck_ could see how well _that_ was going to go down with Robyn ‘Don’t underestimate me!’ Hill!

Watching the fight escalate hurts almost as much as living it did. It’s almost a relief when the ship crashes. 

He’s pretty sure he knows how this is going to play out. He’s seeing a version of himself that doesn’t question _anything_ the way he shoul – does. 

This vision Clover isn’t going to break. 

He did...ask for this. He supposes he was hoping really, really hard that talking might have worked.

It doesn’t. The battle starts the same. Then Callows shows up. 

“Don’t stop on my account!”

It haunts him. That moment where everything crystalized, and it was like a bucket of snow down the back, as if his aura had shattered to let in the cold. He really, really _hadn’t_ wanted to fight Qrow. Had meant ‘friend’ in earnest, and hearing Qrow reject that had hurt more than any of the blows that had landed in the fight. When Qrow had turned, gone for Callows without hesitation, _trusting_ Clover at his back – that was when he broke. 

This Clover does not. 

All he can do is watch, arms crossed because he’s itching for Kingfisher or a horseshoe in his hands. It hurts to see Callows giggling, having such _fun_ while this nightmare plays out. Qrow is amazing, taking on two enemies at once and using Callows’ assistance when it’s given and still lashing out at the bastard too.

Vision-him never stops, never backs down, fixates on Qrow. The kindest thought Clover can muster is that the man might be too heart-hurt to _think_, but he knows that’s probably not what’s going on. 

Of course it’s Qrow that takes out his aura. A gods damned literal gut punch. Of course. The agony in Qrow’s voice hurts worse than that punch must’ve, the desperation to know _why_.

“Sometimes the right decision is the hardest to make.” Gods, it makes Clover want to spit at Vision-him’s feet. This man knows nothing about hard decisions. He made the _easy_ one. Blind faith in a man with tunnel vision. 

“I trust James with my life!” Yeah, that was a bad decision. If only it didn’t sound _pleading_, like Vision-Clover is begging Qrow to understand. Begging for forgiveness he hasn’t done anything to earn. “I wanted to trust you” has such a heartbroken quaver to it, and Clover wants to turn away from this...this whatever it is, because that is exactly what he did, putting his life in Qrow’s and Robyn’s hands. They went through hell, but they made it through.

He doesn’t see it coming. He’s too busy watching these two heartbroken hunters taking stands on opposite sides of a line. 

The sound is unmistakable, making Clover hunch protectively over his crossed arms even as Vision-him arcs back in agony. Harbinger’s segmented blade is _right there_, Clover is staring at his own blood coating Qrow’s weapon, staining the snow. 

None of them move until Callows chuckles, and none of it seems real until Vision-Clover staggers forward, till his bloody badge lands on the snow, ripped loose in the violence. 

He collapses away from it, fails to push himself upright twice, and Clover is still struck dumb as Callows _gloats_. 

That’s – he – what?

He got stabbed? That wasn’t luck, that was more of the arrogance, but _stabbed_? Vision-him should not have trusted his life to a man who was already willing to sacrifice all of Mantle for the good of Atlas. Look what happens.

“_I’ll kill you!_” That finally yanks Clover’s gaze from the man who looks to be dying at his feet, and it’s because Qrow sounds like he is losing his mind. 

It only gets worse as Callows lays bare the awful truth, and worse, he’s right. Anyone seeing this wouldn’t hesitate to believe Qrazy Branwen decided some murder was called for. 

Clover would claim that Qrow’s expression when he drops to Vision-him’s side – and the broken scream before it as Callows escaped – leaves him feeling gutted, but he can’t even try for grim humor yet. 

Vision-Clover is dying. He can’t quite process that. 

It burns, how Qrow reaches for Vision-him, hands hovering like he doesn’t dare touch and make it real. 

“Someone had to take the fall,” Vision-him declares, and Clover shakes his head. 

“Not like this!” he snaps back, though it changes nothing, and neither man reacts to his words. “Desertion was better! It was _right_!”

“..._James_ will take the fall. I’ll make sure of it.” Qrow still looks broken, though now it’s broken and furious, determined.

That’s the first moment Clover accepts Vision-him is truly dying, and he feels like he can’t breathe.

Vision-him looks past Qrow, and Clover glances over to see the sun is finally rising. It’s gorgeous, as only tundra sunrises can be, and it makes Vision-him smile and chuckle, just a little. “Good luck.”

He stills, and the world starts to gray around the edges. 

Clover reels back as Qrow _screams_, agony clawing up the huntsman’s throat and choking off in a way Clover never wants to ever hear again. The echoes ring in his ears, shatter against his heart, and the gray in his vision darkens, spreads. It turns richer, the purple-blue of Rue’s Semblance, and the vision fades to the black of his own closed eyes. 

For a long, long moment, Clover tries to just breathe. 

* * *

When he finally opens his eyes, Clover can hardly see through the tears. Rue is a blur to the side, and they scoot something towards him that grates against the floor. It’s a mobile sidetable, with a box of tissues, a glass of what might be water, and the fixings he suspects are for tea. 

He goes for the tissues, abandoning his dignity because everything _hurts_. Not physically – he knows how to deal with that. No, just everything else. 

That had not gone the way he’d thought it might. Somehow, death hadn’t ever seemed to be a possible outcome.

Okay, so maybe he does still have a bit of the same arrogance that Vision-him did. Not important right now. 

He’s spent _so much time_ questioning his decision to side against Ironwood. He’s wondered time and time and time again if that somehow influenced Robyn and Qrow, if his luck took that opportunity when they were stuck alone on the tundra when maybe, otherwise....

Well, apparently otherwise he’d be _dead_. Nope, now is not the time to be thinking, crying is better.

Sort of. From a certain perspective. 

When he’s all wrung out and calmer, Clover downs the glass of water before glancing over at Rue. “You’re used to people breaking down crying,” he says, not able to make it a question. 

Rue’s smile is wry and tiny as they shrug. “I’m just glad when it’s not a lot of anger instead.”

Ah. That puts the shop’s sparseness into a different light. 

Clover nods, frowning as he reaches for the carafe he hopes holds hot water. His hands are shaking. That’s not good. 

Rue takes over without a word, and hands over a mug of a different blend than earlier. This is fragrant, probably some kind of soothing mix though Clover is far from a tea connoisseur. Since he feels steadier after drinking most of it, he’ll go with that theory. 

“That’s a hell of a Semblance you have,” he finally says. 

“Thank you. That’s...also politer than I usually get.”

He just can’t resist. “This sounds like it can be difficult. Why do it at all?”

Rue plays with their own mug, staring into it like there might be answers in whatever they’re drinking. It takes them a bit to find words. “For all the other times. For when people wake up laughing, relieved. Or crying, but...settled. The answers they find aren’t always good, but sometimes it’s what they need to see anyways. Some people just need the peace of an answer, _any_ answer.” Clover nods, all too familiar with questions that won’t ever settle. That provides them with an opening, though, and they give him a look. “Why’d you go looking for answers?”

Not exactly pulling any punches. Clover sighs and leans back, sprawling further into the cushions for the ridiculous comfort of having something solid at his back. “I was at Mantle,” he says, and it hurts how much that conveys, how quickly that gets an understanding look of sympathy. “I had to make some....” Vision-Clover’s words echo in his mind. “Some hard decisions. I don’t – I don’t think I regret them, but that doesn’t mean they’re settling quietly.”

They nod, fidgeting with their mug some more. They glance up to meet Clover’s eyes. “Did you find what you needed?”

Needed, not wanted. He tries to consider the question as dispassionately as possible. In the vision, he’d stayed loyal to Ironwood – betraying Qrow and Robyn, and probably a good chunk of Mantle in the process. He’d been so obsessed with following through on Orders, that he’d almost literally put his life in the hands of a man who had _proven_ he would sacrifice any life ‘for the greater good.’ He’d died for it.

Here, though, in the life he _was_ living, he’d betrayed Ironwood. Put his life in Qrow and Robyn’s hands, and they’d all lived. Mantle....

Well. They’d done the best by Mantle that they could. But they’d been alive to try. 

_And that’s the bottom line, isn’t it. We’re still alive to try_. Clover opens his eyes and smiles at Rue. “Close enough, I think. Thanks.” He stands, grateful that his aura has already cleared out most of the physical fallout from his breakdown. Hyacinth Rue stands as well, looking pleased and a little relieved. 

“I’m glad. Anything else I can do for you?”

He hesitates, considering his options for a moment. _Might as well push my luck_, he thinks, and he gives Rue his best charming grin. “Happen to know where I can find a jewelry store? I need to buy some rings.” Or maybe some kind of smithing operation, see what they can do with a spare horseshoe or two – after all, jewelry isn’t exactly Robyn’s thing, and Qrow appreciates utility to whatever shiny has caught his eye. 

He’ll just have to wander around and see if he gets lucky. 


End file.
